Page 16 of Arrogant Puck

“Both.”

Another point.

I lie back, and she starts slow, professional. She knows her angles, keeps the pressure clean, doesn’t overcorrect. I feel the edge in my hip give just enough to ease the tension, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“You don’t talk much,” I say.

She shakes her head, completely neutral again.

Odd.

I glance up. “You don’t like hockey players?”

“Never said that.”

She finishes the stretch and steps back.

And then, she’s gone.

After stretch, I hit the weight room with Anders and a couple of rookies.

They joke. I don’t.

I’m not here for locker room friendships. I’m here to calm my demons down before I revert to old ways.

Most guys on this team have side businesses, podcast appearances, sponsorship deals. I don’t. I show up. I train. I fight. I score.

Then I leave.

Coach likes to say I’m a cancer in the room. The guy who throws off the balance. He’s not wrong. But I’m also the one who drags the team through the blood when we’re losing in the third. The one who doesn’t flinch when someone puts a knee into our goalie.

I know what I’m worth.

By the time we finish training, it’s late afternoon. I towel off and head out the back, ignoring the HU’s media team hovering near the tunnel. They’ve been begging for a feature all season.“A day in the life of thealivebrother in the league.”

Fuck that.

You want to know what a day in my life looks like?

Lifting until my bones ache. Practice until something tears. Ice baths. Food I don’t taste. Sleep I don’t get. Pussy I fuck for fun.

There’s your feature.

In the lot, I’m halfway to my truck when I hear, “Yo, Castellano!”

It’s Anders. Big, blonde, and always smiling like he’s already drunk.

He jogs up beside me. “We’re hitting Cielo tonight. You in?”

“No.”

“Come on. Bottle service, back room, NHL players.”

“I said no.”

He laughs like I’m kidding. “You gotta get laid or something, man. You’re wound tight.”

I unlock the truck. “I’m not the one asking another dude to come drink with him.”

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